


A Christmas at 221B

by Fair_Winds



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Because they are fools, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, non-established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23670721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fair_Winds/pseuds/Fair_Winds
Summary: A fluffy Johnlock one shot that may make your teeth rot. No-plot whatsoever just pure fluff!The detective stepped over a piece of furniture on his way like it was a carpet and asked while rubbing his hand together with an unreadable expression on his face.“ Let’s get to work, shall we?”
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33
Collections: Sherlock Fandom VS 2020





	A Christmas at 221B

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear friends, this is my first work and I am so excited about finally sharing it. I wrote this fic a long time ago -and I mean years- but I've never had the courage to post it until now. I really enjoy reading all the beautiful works here and finally decided to try to give back the best I can. I hope you like it, please try to be kind to me *nervous laughter*, Sorry if I made some errors. Comments are always welcome!

**A Christmas at 221B**

*Continuous rustling *

 _I am going to kill him._ That was the army doctor’s first thought in the morning same as the million times before. He groaned with frustration and rolled to the other side of the bed while pulling the covers over himself with the hope of the sounds from downstairs to disappear. He was just about to re-enter the sweet world of dreamland when he heard a loud crash. John sighed and threw the covers to the side along with any hope to sleep. He forced his eyes to open _. “Better go check on him before he destroys the entire flat, the insufferable git.”_ He half muttered under his breath while slowly rising from his warm, comfortable bed.

He quickly put on his pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt on and head down the stairs while rubbing his sleepy eyes and yelling to his flatmate .

“Sherlock! What on earth are you doing?! It’s seven o’clock in the morning and we were dealing with the case up until 4 am, and chasing a bloody murderer for God’s sake in a dark alley just 3 hours ago, you cannot be that bored by now. I swear if I eve--”

That was when John reached the bottom of the stairs and decided to raise his head and take a look at the place which they once called the living room.

“Oh my God, Sherlock! What in the bloody hell?! Jesus, what have you done this time?!”

There were pig nails over the dining table, all bookshelves were now empty and all the books --especially John’s favourite ones, _of course,_ John thought -- were thrown everywhere, there was a harpoon in front of the fire place and his chair - _of course mine_ \- was now lying on its side, blocking the kitchen door. There were microscopes, beakers and past experiments, and -- _god knows what that yellow thing is_ \-- on the couch forming a little tower of mess with a very delicate balance. And in the middle of the chaos, standing the consulting detective whose curious blue eyes were darting everywhere frantically. His normally unruly curls of dark hair were now more carelessly pointing at every direction. Sherlock’s hands were fumbling among the pile of things rapidly while he was _still_ continuing to throw everything randomly into the air.

John closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose trying to remain calm. _I am a doctor and a soldier._ He reminded himself, _I’ve seen worse, more than one time I woke up in the middle of a bloody warfare, surely I can do this._ He slowly breathed out through his nostrils.

“Sherlock.”

He asked softly but the slight tremor in his voice revealed the strained anger. When there was no response from the madman - _who_ _obviously even forgot that I existed_ \- John thought and said:

“I am not going to deal with this Sherlock.” he shook his head “No, not today.”

He strode with certain, military disciplined steps and found his way through the mess. John grabbed his coat while angrily mumbling

“ I am going out.” and left the room in a record speed.

There was a loud slam of the door that made the walls of 221B shook. The detective suddenly stopped his movements, ruffled his hair and brushed the dust off his dressing gown. He quickly went to the door and shouted downstairs while grinning mischievously.

“Mrs. Hudson! He took the bait!”

* * *

John was wandering around the streets of London aimlessly. The cold winter air was filling his lungs. _I needed that._ He tried to convince himself. _The fresh air, some time alone to clear my mind._ He saw a bench nearby while walking through a park and went to sit on it. He rested his elbows on his legs and put his head between his hands _Who am I kidding, it’s Christmas morning, I just wanted to be at home reading a book while sitting on my chair in front of the fire place and drinking a hot cuppa. Just a little bit peace that’s all, is it too much for a bloke to ask ?!”_ Just at that moment his phone buzzed from the pocket of his haversack jacket. It was a text from Lestrade.

\- Care for a pint?

 _Finally,_ he thought. _Just the thing I needed_. He quickly typed his answer and went to meet Greg at the pub.

15 minutes later they were both sitting on the stools next to each other, nursing their drinks thoughtfully. John was the first one to break the silence.

“How are the things, Graham?” he said smirking.

The DI rolled his eyes. “Ha-ha very funny.”

“Okay, just teasing you, seriously though how are you doing Greg?”

“Better, actually. You know we’ve sent the divorce papers, and the process will finally be over in a week.” The detective looked like a burden has been lifted from his shoulders.

“ I hope it is what you wanted, Greg. I’m sure it’ll get better from this point forward, you are a nice bloke, you deserve it. ” John smiled to reassure his friend.

“Thanks, mate. Well, surely it was something I wanted after there was nothing left to do to save the marriage. I know I should have done it sooner, I figured out the fact that she was cheating on me long time before the Christmas four years ago. So I did not exactly needed a certain consulting detective to announce that my wife was cheating on me with the PE teacher, in the middle of a Christmas party.” He shook his head unbelievingly and chuckled at the memory.

John grimaced at the thought of the mentioned person and took a long gulp from his drink. The DI did notice the change in his friend’s behaviour.

“So what about you then, mate? How are you holding up?”

“You know, same.” John tried to keep a blank face and even managed a small smile.

“Oh, don’t give me that! I am sitting here, opening up about all of my problems and you are trying to fool me like I didn’t notice the sour expression on your face when I mentioned about him.” Greg looked slightly hurt. John finished the last drops of his beer with one swig and motioned the bartender for a refill.

“That bad, huh? What has he done this time?”

“It’s not -- It’s not exactly about what he has done actually, Christ, it’s ridiculous to talk about it, really.” he paused and glanced at his friend but Lestrade was urging him to continue by keeping his curious eyes focused on him.

“He just-- He doesn’t even have the tiniest bit of respect towards me, you know, it’s been five years and he doesn’t even care about anything that doesn’t concern him, at all.” He ran a hand through his hair trying to regain his composure.

“Look here’s the thing; he knows I like to spend holidays especially Christmas in the peace of home, relaxing. This morning, I woke up and you wouldn’t believe what he has done to the flat! I tried to remain calm, I was going to reason with him but the bloody git didn’t even looked at my face, he just completely ignored me. I know I agreed to this, I know it’s Sherlock, it’s just who he is but...” John trailed off playing with the corners of his napkin nervously and staring at his drink.

Lestrade shook his head and tried to hide his grin but John had already noticed that.

“What is it Greg?” The doctor asked feeling a little irritated by the grin. Greg looked distressed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Okay. I’ll say it but no hard feelings, okay?” He asked warily while a small blush creeping up to his face.

“Okay Greg, just spill it out.” The doctor saw the odd behavior and had a feeling of knowing what was coming.

“You are a brilliant bloke but I don’t understand why you are so bloody thick sometimes.”  
“Well, thanks Greg, that made two of you.”

The DI ignored the comment and continued. “What I mean is, you think he does not give any attention to you at all but you are actually the only one who really matters to him.”

John just snorted in return. Greg continued: “Believe me, I know, I have known him before you came along and you wouldn’t believe how often Mycroft was calling me to go check on him to prevent him from doing something stupid. But after you, I did not receive any calls from him and--” John opened his mouth to protest but the detective did not let him:

“Let me finish, it’s not just that, you said that you don’t think that he respects you. He asks for your opinion in the middle of a case at the crime scene for God’s sake! The old Sherlock would have been so busy showing off his massive intellect and insulting everyone in the ten meter radius, he would never have done that! I know he doesn’t show it sometimes- ” John rolled his eyes. “ Okay, most of the times, but he respects you greatly and you are even more important to him than his work. Don’t look at me like that, even Mrs. Hudson sees it John, don’t be blind!” For a while, John seemed to be lost in thought considering the things Lestrade just said. When the blonde man didn’t respond the DI continued “Think about what I said, mate, and don’t let that pain in the arse fool you otherwise.” Greg really hoped the two of them would pull their heads out of their asses soon otherwise it was a matter of time someone from their friends to explode from the tension they feel around those two idiots.

John turned his head to face him and asked Greg with a glint in his eyes. “Do you remember the infamous Christmas party?”

“How could I forget?” He grinned and then glanced at his friend who now looked a lot like his flatmate when he was scheming an evil plan to capture a suspect. Lestrade furrowed his brow in confusion. “Wait, What do you have in mind?”

For the first time in that evening John looked very smug about himself while muttering the words:

“A small revenge.”

* * *

“Sherlock! What did you do to my bloody flat?” Mrs Hudson asked in a voice that sounded slightly angry while her eyes were opened wide in bewilderment upon seeing condition of the living room.

“It had to be done.” Sherlock answered shortly. He didn’t move from his spot in front of the window where he stood with his hands in his pockets and his always calculating gaze wandering through the street below.

“Oh, Sherlock. This is a little bit too much even for your standards dear, don’t you think?

“You don’t know what it takes to get John to leave the flat on a holiday! He has an irrational sentimental obsession for staying at home and acting like a library cat, especially at this time of year. It’s tedious.” Sherlock pulled a disgusted face but Mrs Hudson saw the softened expression on his face at the memories of their time together. She smiled knowingly.

“Well I’m not cleaning this mess, not you-”

“Not my housekeeper, all right, all right.” Sherlock turned to face her and answered in an impatient tone. The detective stepped over a piece of furniture on his way like it was a carpet and asked while rubbing his hand together with an unreadable expression on his face.

“ Let’s get to work, shall we?”

* * *

John braced himself at the door of the 221B. _I can do this._ he thought, _the bloody git deserved it._ He decided to make Sherlock come downstairs because he didn’t want to risk getting angry upon seeing the flat. That might screw up his plan. He checked the smell of his breath.

Alcohol.

_“Perfect.”_

* * *

Sherlock was sure John should have been home by now. He was fidgeting uneasily and drumming his fingers on the leather chair when he heard noises coming from downstairs. _Finally!_ He thought but then he heard the doorbell rang. Mrs Hudson was out and he wasn’t expecting any clients so he decided to get the door himself. He went downstairs and the door opened at the same time he reached the last step. 

John stepped in the hallway slowly turning and closing the door. The detective was relieved that his flatmate was finally home but something looked very odd. Sherlock glanced at the army doctor from head to foot. Underneath his black jacket _which is not his usual one, not even close,_ Sherlock thought, _this one is much more flattering-is it-is it embroidered with velvet!?_ John was wearing a deep red shirt and suit pants that fitted him perfectly. _This is not the attire in which he left the flat_. There was a slight bump on the left side of his jacket. _A gift, obviously. Hidden in his jacket’s inner pocket._ Which made him more curious because John never hid his gifts like that before. He expected John to be mad at him but there were no trace of anger in his movements. There was still a space between them and he couldn’t see John’s face properly because of the dim light of the hallway.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

“ Shall we go upstairs then?” He asked, suddenly for some reason increasingly becoming unsure of himself.

“No, no, here, I don’t want to ruin this by seeing the catastrophe over there.”

 _Ruin what?_ Sherlock thought frustrated with the lack of information. “Okay.” He said taking a step forward to deduce John for more detail.

“Sherlock, I have a gift for you.” John rubbed the back of his neck nervously and went to stand in front of Sherlock, reaching the pocket of his jacket and handing over the gift to Sherlock who is now getting more confused and nervous with each passing second. Now with the doctor was much closer than before Sherlock noticed many things at once.

 _Avoiding eye contact, biting inside of his cheek. Nervous, expectant. Relatively new, clean dress suit, must have been bought for special occasions. Little gift in a box wrapped in a very careful manner, the owner must have put great care to impress the receiver. Sharp smell - Alcohol. Deep red wrapping paper corresponds to the deep red shirt he is wea - oh._ Just then John lifted his gaze from the floor and looked up at Sherlock in the eye. _Accelerated breathing, pupils dilated._ _Oh._ Sherlock’s eyes opened wide with realization.

 _God. This cannot be happening. No. Not like this. I am not good at this.”_ Sherlock started to panic and felt as though his brain was short circuited. _What if John wants to talk about feelings? What if Sherlock would say the wrong thing somehow?_ _Was this a good time to talk even if he was only recently starting to accept the inevitability of his own emotions?_ There were so many thoughts and questions and he was trying to process everything at once. The gift in his hand became forgotten. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.

The great detective stood there his mouth open, eyes wide with shock and irrational fear. Everything was in contrast with his usual cold, detached demeanour. He was paler than usual - _if that is even possible_ John thought - and droplets of sweat started to gather on his forehead.

John studied the look on the detective’s face and couldn’t contain himself any longer at the expression Sherlock was wearing. He burst out laughing so loud, Sherlock flinched at the unexpected sound.

“I - I finally did it.” John managed to say between fits of laughing. He grabbed his sides leaning his back to the wall almost falling because of laughter.

“What?” Sherlock asked utterly confused.

“I finally managed to leave world’s greatest consulting detective speechless.”

Then everything downed on him. “You -you did this on purpose.” He asked mouth still hanging open.

“Yes, you bloody git. You are not the only one in the world who can play games, you know.”

The younger man remained silent. He felt too many emotions at once; immense relief, surprise at his friend’s little game and even more surprise at getting tricked so easily.

“Oh, God. You should have seen the look on your face!” He said wiping his tears of laughter.

Sherlock looked at his friend’s face and found himself giggling along with him.

“Well, I accept I deserved that.” Sherlock said grinning.

“You bet.”

“How?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“I was keeping a suit at the clinic in case of work meetings and such.”

“Your pupils were..”

“Allergy eye drops.”

“You took them from the clinic.”

“Obviously.” said John and they grinned at each other at the brief change of their roles.

“And breathing?”

“I was a soldier, Sherlock. I can control my breathing.”

“But how did you assume that I was going to react this way?”

“I know your methods.” John answered simply.

Sherlock looked into the eyes of the man who stood in front of him. He knew it was just John’s way of getting back at him nevertheless he couldn’t help himself but feeling a bit of hurt. He tried to hide it but John knew his flatmate so well he didn’t miss the hurtful expression passing Sherlock’s eyes even if it was just for a moment. John realized he may have taken it too far and instinctively raised a hand to detective’s cheek even shocking himself with the action but he did not retract his hand and to his surprise Sherlock did not back away. John looked into his beautiful blue eyes and gave him a sincere smile. At that moment all doubts of John’s intentions disappeared from detective’s mind. He beamed back at him.

 _Erm. Back to the plan._ Sherlock thought breaking the eye contact and trying to shake himself from the warm feeling of John’s hand left on his cheek.

“Shall we?” The detective gestured towards upstairs.

“Okay, but I’m not gonna deal with that battlefield upstairs tonight.” John said while climbing the stairs.

“Well, you are the one who keeps reminding me that you are a soldier.” Sherlock shot back. John ignored the comment and continued. “And tomorrow, you are definitely going to help me clean th-”

John stopped in the mid-sentence the instance he stepped into the living room. It was not even remotely close to the state that he left it in the morning. He looked around in amazement. The room was tidy and neat as John has never seen it before. Everything was clean - _and I mean clean_ John thought - there were no sight of experiments of one particular madman, even on the kitchen table. All of the books were back in their places in the alphabetical order, there was a giant Christmas tree in the corner and it was all decorated beautifully and even lit up. There were small pieces of wood that are burning quietly in the fireplace. It was like a warm, cosy home full of Christmas spirit. He couldn’t find the words to speak for a few minutes.

“Sherlock.” He said with a softness and admiration in his voice that he didn’t bother hiding. “I - I thought you didn’t like Christmas at all, or all the other holidays in that matter.”

 _But you do._ Sherlock thought but didn’t put into words. “Well, I thought it will be a nice change considering I ruined the past ones by jumping of the roofs, insulting guests and all.” He waved his hand in the air mocking a bored expression.

John flinched at the jumping of the roofs bit but let out a small chuckle.

There was a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. The doctor sniffed the air and asked “Oh, my God, Sherlock, did you let Mrs Hudson cook for us? She was dying to try her new recipes for us.” He focused his gaze on his flatmate.

“Yes and I may have even helped a little.” Sherlock answered becoming slightly light headed because of John’s intense attention on him. “Let’s sit and eat then. Shall we?” And with that he turned around and hurried to the kitchen in hopes of getting a hold of himself.

John seated himself at the table that was already prepared.

Sherlock served the food and sat across his blogger.

“So you are actually going to eat?”

“It would be a waste, if I do not. Also, I promised Mrs Hudson, she has a weird ability to detect lies about me eating or not eating the food she prepared for us.”

John noticed the wine bottle Sherlock has brought to the table along with two glasses. He grabbed the bottle and began inspecting it. “So you have never gone shopping to buy milk for the flat but you went out to buy a bottle of wine.”

“It is one of the bottles I keep for occasions.” Sherlock replied.

John raised his eyebrows at him.

“Oh, shut up and eat already.”

“There is the Sherlock I know!” John grinned “At some point I thought aliens took and replaced you or something.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous John.” He stated. “I would have directed them to Mycroft, maybe they would take him to his home planet in which he has his own fortress of solitude.” He said smirking and John replied with a small laugh.

“To the very best of times, John.” he said raising his glass.

“To the very best of times, cheers.” John lifted his own glass.

“Cheers.”

They ate their food while speaking about cases, laughing at the memories while holding their stomachs and wiping tears of laughter and sometimes in a comfortable silence that is resulted from their natural connection and partnership for years. They finished their meal, both of their stomachs are now full.

“Well, no offence Sherlock, but Mrs Hudson is a genius.”

“I agree, none taken.” Sherlock smiled at his friend. John stood and moved the dishes to the kitchen while Sherlock took their wine glasses and put them on the small coffee table near their armchairs. After a few minutes, John came back from the kitchen and sat in his chair across the detective. He let his eyes roam on the huge Christmas tree until he noticed a wrapped, medium sized box underneath it. Sherlock followed his gaze and said “Yes, um, it is for you.” He said shyly.

John looked at him in surprise and went over to take the box. He tore the wrapping paper carefully while Sherlock was watching him closely. He opened the lid and took the gift out in order to see it clearly. It was a navy blue cashmere jumper which looked more fancy and modern than his current ones. He ran his fingers over the fabric and felt its softness and smoothness under his fingertips. He noticed that the colour of the jumper matched Sherlock’s favourite scarf perfectly. John felt very touched by the gesture. _Carefully selected then. So Sherlock_ _genuinely put an effort to buy me a gift that I’ll really like. Well, that is new, considering he normally doesn’t even bother to get milk for th-”_ His thoughts were interrupted by a small nervous cough. He turned his head and gave a reassuring smile to the detective.

“Well, this is beautiful, Sherlock, thank you.”

Sherlock’s eyes beamed with happiness and relief.

“I know you prefer hideous ones but there is a gift card if you want to return it for a ridiculous one with cats or spaceships or something.” He sarcastically drew imaginary UFOs in the air.

“Wanker.” John said trying and failing to keep the silly smile of his face. “And no, I don’t want to return it, I really liked it. And um, by the way, the box I gave you, it was really your gift.”

“Oh, okay.” Sherlock said suddenly getting excited. He found the box in his pocket and opened it. There was a little magnifying glass which looked similar to the one Sherlock usually use but it was much more elegant with pearl inlaid around the glass and his initials “SH” was carved on the wooden handle.

John cleared his throat and sheepishly said “Sorry, they were out of pig nails.”

Sherlock sighed theatrically while putting on a fake frown. “Well, I will just have to try and live with this disappointment.”

“I know it is not a big present but I-”

“No, it is perfect and I needed it, thank you John.”

They stared into each other’s eyes sharing the same fond and content smile. After a few moments both of them snapped out from their reveries. John quickly averted his gaze and reached for his wine glass. Sherlock suddenly jumped up from his chair and cleared his throat.

“Well, which one?” He asked out of the blue.

John looked up at him quizzically “Which one of what?”

Sherlock went in front of the window in one long stride and grabbed the violin case that is sitting near. He opened the case and held the instrument tenderly. He started adjusting the knobs on the Strad, giving John time to think while he was tuning the instrument.

“Whatever you choose. I bet you already know which ones I like the most even better than me. So, your way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, always.”

They shared a look and Sherlock gently put the violin on his shoulder and assumed a pose that comes naturally to him from years of experience. He started to play the piece and let his long fingers dance on the strings. John leaned back in his chair and watched as his friend playing the instrument with ease. His small movements were in harmony with the melody of the piece he was playing. Looking at him he thought that it was almost like the man has become one with the violin he played. His eyes were closed and he seemed to have lost himself in the notes of the music _.  
  
I can’t believe that many people consider him as a heartless, emotionless person. Maybe if he let them see this side of him._ But it didn’t really matter because he felt privileged being the only person who is allowed to witness the real Sherlock Holmes. The piece was _Bach’s violin sonata No.1 in G minor_. _He is quite fond of Bach._ John thought. He was putting his soul into the piece and the blonde doctor couldn’t take his eyes off the brilliant man who is now performing exclusively for him. John couldn’t remember when was the last time he felt this happy and content before meeting this madman and before stepping into the Baker Street which he would call it as his home from that moment on.  
  
The piece was nearing its end and John began to feel a little bittersweet for he didn’t want it to end. Nevertheless, Sherlock moved to another piece like he was reading the doctor’s mind. _Ah, another one of my favourites_. John thought. _Beside the ones that Sherlock himself composed_. Intro of _Claire de Lune_ filled the flat with soft, high notes. Each note was clear and full of meaning. John took a sip of his wine and Sherlock took a little bow when the piece ended. John applauded the detective and said,

“Brilliant, Sherlock!”

“Thank you.” Sherlock mumbled looking a bit embarrassed. He always loved his partner’s praises.

The doctor laughed at the embarrassment of his friend who is normally known as the king of show-off. He considered doing something for a moment and hesitated but then thought _Oh, what the hell, I’ll do it anyway!_

“Come here” he said standing up and slowly pulled the detective into a tight hug whispering the words “ _you beautiful and ridiculous man”_ he wasn’t sure if Sherlock heard that part.

“I think you did drink too much.” Sherlock commented but nonetheless returned the hug while smiling. A little blush crept up his face. He enjoyed every second of the warm feeling of being in John’s arms being surrounded by his unique scent.

“No I did not...Okay, maybe. I just wanted to thank you for the lovely evening Sherlock, I really appreciate it.”

“Thank you, too. After all I’ve been putting you through the past years, you deserve more than that.” Sherlock said his voice almost a whisper.

“I have already forgiven you, Sherlock. Don’t worry about it anymore.” The doctor squeezed Sherlock’s arm in order to comfort him. “Looks like I am not the only one who drank too much tonight after all.” He said teasingly after seeing the light blush and the sheepish expression on Sherlock’s face. He pulled a little away from him to look directly up at the detective’s eyes. Sherlock held his gaze and said

“Merry Christmas, John.” in a tone that made John’s heart skip a beat. Both of them smiled sincerely and a warm feeling spread across their chests while they were reluctantly pulling apart.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock.” John said and with one last look at the detective, he turned and began to slowly walk towards his room. The night turned out very different from his expectations and presented him with a lot to reflect on. The ridiculous man gave him the perfect date- _ahem_ -evening with so much attention to detail about the things that John loved. He couldn’t dare to wish for more, at least for tonight. _Maybe Lestrade was right after all,_ he thought. Just as he passed his chair to head for upstairs, something over the kitchen door caught his attention.

 _Is that a Mistletoe?!_ He couldn’t believe his eyes and turned to his friend, but Sherlock was busy putting the violin back in its case.

 _Interesting._ John thought, but well, he decided, this was a discussion for another time.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear friends, this is my first work and I am so excited about finally sharing it. I wrote this fic a long time ago -and I mean years- but I've never had the courage to post it until now. I really enjoy reading all the beautiful works here and finally decided to try to give back the best I can. I hope you like it, please try to be kind to me *nervous laughter*. Sorry if I made some errors. (English is not my native tongue) I hope you feel happy reading this. Comments and kudos are always welcome! Kudos too, if you like it!


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